When things go right
by Gothical-Fairy
Summary: Today has, so far, been a terrible day. It's no surprise, really, after finding Harry Potter bleeding to death on my doorstep when I've had no contact with the magical world for two months. This day can simply not get any worse. Yet. DmHp, threeshot.
1. Stained cloth

A/N; ah, yeh, I know, I should really stop writing on these things and continue with veela genes. Well don't worry, I haven't stopped with that one, it's just that I've been writing this for months (my muse keeps visiting and then running away just as suddenly) so I'm glad to just have it done. Enjoy!

Disclaimer; you know the deal – I don't any of this stuff, so it's best not to sue. Please don't sue. _Please_?

Warnings; slash, bad language…and that's about it.

This story **_is _**finished, and is three chapters long. However, I'm going to post one a day – just because!

XXxxXX

Today is a good day. Today is a _good _day. Today _is _a good day. Today _is _a _great _day.

Okay, so maybe I was embellishing the facts a little.

Today is a shit day.

From the very moment I woke up, it has been an all round shit day. All right, so it's only breakfast at the moment, but as I sit here, quietly nibbling on my unusually burnt toast, I'm positive that today will continue to be a _shit _day.

When I woke up, I immediately noted the lack of Slytherin green that used to surround me. I've been noticing it a lot recently, which is to be expected, but I just can't seem to get used to it. I can't seem to get used to the pale cream paint that covers my bedroom walls, and it depresses me.

I've been living in this goddamn flat for two months and I'm _still _not used to the colour. It sends shivers down my spine, and I end up missing the dark, Slytherin green bed hangings that used to surround me as I slept peacefully in the seventh year dormitories. In _Hogwarts. _I'm not in Hogwarts anymore, and the pasty cream which now surrounds my bed is a constant reminder. It's depressing.

So, I threw back the covers of my bed, and put my feet onto the floor.

I instantly had a small inkling that it wasn't going to be a very good day. The floor was _cold. _Carpet simply _shouldn't _be cold, but the heating has gone in my flat and I can't use magic in case it's traced.

Now _that's _a depressing thought; I'm living in a bloody _muggle _flat in the middle of _muggle _London. I hate it here. In my old dormitories, it was never cold; ever. The heating charms were constantly in place, and we could walk around in our boxers if we wanted to – we rarely did, but that's not the point. The point is we _could_. Now I'm lucky if I can get away with two thick woolly jumpers at eight o' clock in the morning. It usually heats up around nine, and then off come the jumpers.

But that's a little off track. Anyway, so the floor was cold this morning, and I quickly pulled on some socks. Then I traipsed across the room and out into my living room so I could take a shower; the bathroom is on the other side of the living room.

And that thought's depressing too; my living room is the main room of this little flat, and every door opens onto it. As you walk in through the front door, the couch is slightly to the right and ahead of you, with its back to the counters which separate the living room from the kitchen. There's this thing called a T.V in the corner, which I've only just learnt to use, and a fireplace directly opposite the couch. There's a small coffee table and a thing called a _phone _which I don't really know the point of yet.

To the left is a door which leads into my bedroom and on the opposite side of the room is the door which leads to the bathroom and a window to the side of that. That's it; that's the vast expanse of my flat. Back at the manor, we had a bathroom on every floor (there were five floors that I had access to, plus a basement, my parents' floor and one which I was never allowed near. Probably Voldermort related or something stupid like that) and the rooms were large and far apart. It took half an hour to walk from the bottom of the house to the top (because you just couldn't help but stop and look at the many portraits and other interesting artefacts on the way) and I was never, ever bored.

My flat is just about as boring as they come. Granted it's larger than others I've seen (I admit I haven't seen many), but it's no where near the size of the manor. Though, thinking about, I definitely prefer living here.

So, I crossed the living room and entered the bathroom, and couldn't be bothered to shut the door behind me. _Big _mistake. I had my shower (which was cold, because the water hadn't had a chance to heat up yet) and I came out, wrapping a towel around my waist. I stood in front of the mirror which was on the wall above the sink, and crossed my arms. I looked _awful. _Dark rings under the eyes, pale skin and an all round ghastly appearance. And I would have to do something about my hair!

I then got a face full of feathers as my owl swooped in; he's getting old, and his eyesight isn't what it used to be, so I ended up shooing him away before picking the feathers out of my hair.

Gabriel – my owl – isn't allowed outside during the day in case muggles see him, so he gets a little bored during the day (he hardly ever sleeps, bloody bird). He likes to fly around a lot, and often gets in my way, but I just didn't have the heart to abandon him. I've done a lot of bad things in my life, but being cruel to sick animals isn't one of them.

After I finally managed to get Gabriel out of the bathroom, I finished up in there (I refused to look in the mirror again, so my hair was left unchecked) and went back to my bedroom. I opened my wardrobe and pulled out a pair of torn blue jeans and a long sleeved green t-shirt – there's another thing I hate about my current lifestyle; the clothing.

Muggles have absolutely no fashion sense, and the clothing I do have is old and torn in many places. Some it is fairly reasonable, considering it's muggle, but, like this pair of jeans that I'm wearing, some of it is simply crap. I'm used to expensive robes and hand embroidered shirts with the Malfoy crest, not jeans and a fucking t-shirt.

I must admit, however, that muggle clothing is _much _more comfortable, and has kind of grown on me these last few weeks. Don't tell _anybody_!

Besides, I look stylish in anything!

Anyway, so after that I went out into the kitchen to make breakfast. I stubbed my toe on the way, dropped a glass on the floor (successfully smashing it into a thousand tiny pieces which I will probably have to sweep up later seeing as there is an annoying lack of house elves in this place) and spilt water all down my jeans (don't ask). Then I burnt the toast, and put way to much butter on it to compensate.

So far, it has been a shit day. I haven't even gotten around to brushing my hair yet.

XXxxXX

Someone is knocking at my door.

I look at my piece of burnt – and by now cold – toast, and wonder if it could have poisoned me. I glance over at the door, and the knock sounds again.

Someone is knocking at _my _door.

What the hell?

I begin to panic, instantly dropping my toast to the plate and placing it on the coffee table before grabbing my wand from out of my bedroom. The knocking sounds again, and by now I'm pissed off too. No one knows I'm here – or at least, they're not _supposed _to know – so who the hell would be knocking on _my _door?

I shake my head, absently placing my wand in the back pocket of my jeans. It's probably just some stupid muggle, I mean, not one wizard on earth has a single clue where I am. I was clever; I'm hiding out in the heart of muggle London. I think it's ironic, because it's the last place they'll _ever _look for me; I mean, come on, me, a _Malfoy _in a _muggle _flat? They probably think I've gone to hide out in some wizarding community on the other side of the planet, not to live in a flat barely a half hours walk away from the Leaky Cauldron. Sneaky, no?

They're still knocking, you know.

I sigh, picking up my plate and taking it into the kitchen; if I ignore them, maybe they'll go away. I throw the leftover toast into the bin, and place the plate quietly into the sink before bending down and scooping up the larger bits of glass into my hand, cursing softly as one particularly sharp piece cuts into my hand. I deposit the glass into the bin, and jump as another knock sounds against the door, this time harder and more insistent.

"I can wait all day, you know," I know that voice "It's not like you're going anywhere!"

Oh shit. Oh, that's bad. I think…I think that, standing right outside my door and knocking upon the hard wood, Potter has come to pay me a visit.

My eyes grow wide, as I curse again, this time a little louder. There's no _way _he could have found me this soon! How the hell did he do that? Two months with no word at all from the wizarding world – not one single tracking spell placed upon the area – and all of a sudden Potter turns up on my doorstep? How the hell?

I go into automatic, looking about for the bare minimum things that I will need to take with me. Yes, I _am _going to bloody run. There's no why in _hell _I'm facing Potter, not after all the lengths I've gone to just to stay in hiding.

Why am in hiding? Well…it's rather a long story.

For the Christmas of my seventh year, I returned home to the manor as expected. Only my mother was there, and for the first week we spent lots of time together, talking and laughing and generally having a good time. I love my mother very much, and she really is a sweet and gentle person; when Lucius isn't around.

Then my father showed up, and I went into automatic 'git' mode as I like to call it. Alright, I admit, I am a bit of a bastard at times, but mainly it's just to please my father. I had been thinking, and I knew that Voldermort was just some power crazy twat who was using blood as an excuse to kill people.

Anyway, dear old father brought home with him a special guest one night, and Voldermort himself informed me I was to take the mark as soon as I left school at the end of the year. You can imagine how well my mother took the news.

I have never, _ever _seen my mother cry. Not when my grandfather died, not when Lucius was nearly killed by Voldermort for not completing a task and not when Lucius told her I was to follow in his footsteps.

My mother didn't cry when she heard the news; she wept.

I, however, managed to stand straight, tall and proud, forcing a smirk onto my face as I bowed to the man my father called master. For the rest of winter break I attended any and all death eater meetings that were held, and it was during this time that I realised that I kiss _no ones _ass. I refuse to grovel to a man that can't even stand up to a white haired old guy in a star printed robe and who was killed – even accidentally and temporarily – by a one-year-old baby.

Before I left home to return to school, I bade farewell to my mother with tears in my eyes. She smiled at me – truly _smiled _– and hugged me close, telling me she was proud of me. She knew what I was going to do. She knew that I planned to run.

So, whilst at school, over the next six months I made all of the arrangements, and as soon as school finished I left most of my belongings and fled without a trace – I had thought. Potter is currently proving me wrong.

But I _had _fled. I had loaded all my things onto the train, made sure to be seen on the platform, and then left. I hope it looked like a kidnapping of some sort, as I had also dropped my wand on the platform where I was hope I was last seen standing.

This wand? This wand is _my _wand, the one I dropped on the platform is a replica. I spent a lot of money getting a wand like mine (whoever said no two wands are the same has never had access to any real amount of money), and a great deal more to keep the bloody man quiet. I then had to add to it my own magical signature; that took me simply _ages _to figure out how to do, and left me exhausted for days.

Potter is still here you know. He's knocking again, but this time it sounds desperate.

"Malfoy, _please. _I'm _begging _you to let me in!"

I stop what I'm doing, dropping the t-shirt I had grabbed to stuff into a bag. Is Potter pleading for me to let him in? What, does he think I'm stupid or something? Maybe he thinks I actually have a conscience! What a joke!

"Malfoy, I'm bleeding! There was a death eater attack…I'll do _anything_, just let me in!"

Damn it, maybe I _do _have a conscience. I'm actually walking towards the door and, oh shit, I've opened it.

Holy crap! Potter really _is _bleeding!

He stumbles into my flat, nudging the door shut with his foot before leaning up against it. He's panting heavily, and I have absolutely no idea how he managed to keep his voice steady and uncaring for so long. He's quite the actor.

I can see the damage already; I know the curse. I never heard the name or incantation, but I heard my father mention it before at one of the meetings. The curse creates a small – almost unnoticeable - cut, making the victim think they've had a lucky escape. They leave the fight feeling victorious, thinking they are unharmed, whilst, over a period of time, the small cut begins to get bigger. The cut begins to bleed, and the victim looses blood at an alarming rate; so quick you can't even get to a bloody hospital. Eventually it ends up as one very large, very deep wound, and can cause the victim to bleed to death. It may sound a pretty light curse at first, considering they're death eaters that deal with black magic, but imagine that curse hitting your neck.

Potter got it on the arm; lucky for him. I don't ask questions and neither does he as I direct him to the couch, and demand he pulls off his shirt. As he does so, I quickly grab that t-shirt I was going to pack off the bed, along with the muggle first aid kit and a bowel of water from the kitchen. From under my bed I also pull out an old box, and take out various potions and salves from within it that Severus had given me in case of emergency. I'm pretty sure this counts as one.

Walking back into the living room, I dump everything down on the coffee table. Potter has his eyes closed and is leaning back on the couch, his t-shirt is flung carelessly to the floor. I take the shortest of moments to note his well defined chest before shaking away the thought and tearing up the shirt.

Sitting down beside him, I dip the strip of cloth into the water, and gently dab at his wound. I'm not really careful about it – he's still my enemy after all – and he hisses in pain. His eyes snap open and he glares at me, so I raise an eyebrow in reply.

"Serves you right for coming here," I snap, frowning as the wound continues to bleed.

"I mean, talk about bloody foolish," I continue, reaching for one of the potions "I could kill you right here and now. I'm the son of a death eater, one of your worst enemies, remember? Here, drink this, and be quick about it."

Potter drank the potion in one gulp, grimacing at the taste before replying.

"If you were going to kill me, Malfoy, you wouldn't be helping me now."

I frown, but don't reply, quickly changing the topic as I reach for yet another potion.

"Why the hell couldn't you just use your wand to heal yourself?" I ask irritably, pouring a little of the potion onto a cloth before adding some salve and applying the mixture to the wound. Potter moans softly, and I can't help but wonder why he isn't screaming in agony.

"Well…"he shifts uncomfortably, and I snap at him to stay still "I kind of lost it." 

"You _what_? _HOW?_" He jerks his arm away as I press down too hard.

"Watch it!"

I snarl at him, grabbing his arm back – gently mind. He sighs, collecting his thoughts as he winces again in pain.

"The Death Eaters took it."

"You're unbelievable."

Finally, the bleeding's stopped. Sheesh, I'm _covered _in blood! And just look at my sofa! I clean away the blood from around the wound, and Potter closes his eyes again. I can tell he's about to pass out, I just know he is.

"Potter, if you pass out on me now I'll…" 

But I can't think of anything that I'll do, so I shut up. I continue cleaning the wound before applying another salve, and don't look at the ex-Gryffindor's face. He's smirking, I just know it.

XXxxXX

It is now Midday. This morning was unbelievably shit, and now Harry Potter, the famous Gryffindor Golden Boy, is sleeping in my bed. What. A. Fucking. Prat.

I mean, why me, God? Do you do this to everyone or do you just have some sort of sick fascination with my life? Or is it a game; see who can ruin Draco Malfoy's life the most? I'll kill you, god, just you wait.

I have managed to brush my hair though, thank heavens. I'm not so sure about the sofa though; I don't think it'll ever quite be the same again, seeing as I can't use my wand to clean it (I really don't fancy being tracked down by the ministry, thank you very much). Just bloody typical!

I have to wonder though; how on earth did Potter find me? I bite my lip, sipping at my glass of water as I lean up against the kitchen counters. I realize that hoping to remain undetected was pushing it a little, and I had begun to think about moving out and onto some place else but, even so…I had kind of figured that neither side would be too worried about finding me. The deatheaters would consider me a traitor, but wouldn't really actively seek me out, and the light side would have considered it as a case of 'good riddance'. As far as they're aware, I don't have a wand, and am therefore no longer a threat, right? So why the hell is Potter here now?

And what was with this 'death eater attack' thing anyway? I've been keeping track of the news on that stupid T.V thing, and as far as I'm aware, the only attacks on the muggle community have been relatively far from here.

What was Potter doing here in the first place? Visiting Diagon Alley? Well, surely he would have just apparated. And where are his guard dogs anyway?

I can't stand still, and begin to pace, drink still in hand. This is bad. This is _very _bad. This is so very, _very _bad.

I sigh dramatically. I just _knew _this was going to be a shit day.

XXxxXX

"Ah, finally, the hero of the hour has awoken," I sneer as Potter walks out my room, yawning and still topless "get dressed," I tell him "I want you out of here as soon as bloody possible." 

Potter looks around my flat, picking up his discarded t-shirt and pulling it on, before heading towards the kitchen – making sure to keep his injured arm very, _very _still. I can't imagine how much pain he must be in, but on the other hand I don't really care.

I watch with a raised eyebrow as he opens my fridge, frowning as he finds it empty of anything except milk, a bag of grapes and a few other small items, then peers into my cupboards to. 

"Don't you have _anything_ to eat?" he asks, turning back around to face me. I roll my eyes, and point to the breadbin on the side.

"There's some bread in there, I think. There should be some butter in the fridge, though I'm not so sure about that one, and that's about it."

"That's _it_?"

I cross my arms, scowling at him. "What did you expect, a bloody welcoming feast? There are some biscuits in the left hand cupboard, and the cups are on the counter there."

"Malfoy, why is there no food in this place?" He asks, pulling out the bread. "I mean, what do you eat?"

I shrug lazily, looking anywhere but at him. "Money's tight." I reply simply, not offering an explanation. "What the hell are you doing here anyway?"

"I already told you, death eater attack," he replies, struggling to butter the bread with only one useable arm. I roll my eyes at him and, fed up of watching him struggle, push him out of the way, picking up the knife.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it, Potter."

The dark haired teenager – man? – sighs, running a hand through his hair as he watches me butter the bread.

"It was the only place I could think of that was close by."

I glare at him, and he rolls his eyes at me.

"Alright, alright," he says, putting his good hand up in defence "if you really must know, I'm the only one that knows where you are. I think. When you disappeared, it was a big thing for a few days but, after the initial shock died down, nobody really cared."

I pull down the biscuits for him, and grab a plate. "Good." Is all I say.

"Most people thought you had been whisked away by the death eaters or something," he continues "but others figured you had been captured and were being held prisoner somewhere. I was really shocked because…nobody even seemed to care."

I snort, shaking my head at him. "As if anyone could give a shit about what happens to me," I mumble, passing him the plate with a sandwich and three biscuits upon it.

"Well…I didn't think it was right. I don't care who you are, nobody deserves to just be forgotten about like that." He stated as we sat down on the floor in the living room. Neither of us really wanted to sit on that couch, no matter how uncomfortable the floor is.

"Anyway, I guess a few people were looking for you, out of obligation rather than anything else, and I began to get restless. 'Mione said I have a saving people thing…"

"Smart girl, that one," I comment, leaning up against a clean part of the couch, facing Potter. He nods his head in agreement, blushing a little.

"Yeah, so, anyway, I decided to do a little of my own research. And I found you. Once I found out you were safe, I kind of lost interest; I mean, we are enemies after all. I figured that you had run away from the war, and it was easier for me if it remained that way seeing as I had never particularly looked forward to fighting you out there."

"What, scared to face me, Potter?" I sneer, crossing my arms over my chest. He takes another bite out of his sandwich and nods, making me raise an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, actually, I was. Because, in the end, I knew that I could never kill you. If I ended up facing you out there in a battle, you would win, because there's just no way I could kill you."

I'm intrigued now, and I cock my head to side a little as I contemplate his statement.

"Why not?" I finally ask.

He doesn't answer for a moment or two, eating instead, and I begin to feel a little impatient.

"Well," he starts, shrugging carelessly "let's face it, it's not like I'm the killing type, is it? I don't think I could kill anyone I know, and you…" he sighs, putting his plate down in favour of picking up his drink "I've known you longer than I've known any other wizard. You were the very first wizarding child I ever met and…" he shrugs again "you're significant in a really weird kind of way."

I think back to the day we first met, standing in Madam Malkins…ah. I can't say I made a very good first impression. No wonder he never shook my hand on the train.

"Ah…" I reply, taking a sip of my own drink "I don't suppose you thought very highly of me back then." I pause for a moment "I was a little bit of a brat, wasn't I?"

Potter looks at me strangely, and then bursts out laughing, shaking his head at me as he grins widely. I fight back the smile that's tugging at my own lips, and watch as he leans back, using an arm to support him, still giggling with that silly grin on his face.

And I realize something. Harry Potter - the supposed saviour-to-be of the wizarding world and the man who is destined to defeat Voldermort – giggles like a _girl_!

The thought allows that careless smile of mine slide neatly into place, making me look just as stupid as him.

"Yes," he finally manages to say, still laughing a little "you were."

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything.

"I never understood you,"

The sound of his voice startles me a little, as I hadn't really expected him to say anything else, but I raise an eyebrow in question to his statement anyway.

"I mean, back at school. I don't suppose I actually understand you now, either. Why did you run away?"

I look away from him, turning my gaze instead to the world outside of my window as I contemplate his question. I don't really want to be talking about this with him, and I can't think of a good lie that will suffice. I scowl, stand up, and walk back into the kitchen.

"You can leave whenever you're ready," I say, re-filling my glass from the tap "don't let the door hit you on the way out."

XXxxXX

A/N; second chap out of the three will be posted tomorrow. Reviews are appreciated!


	2. Ripped cloth

XXxxXX

He hasn't left yet, and I'm beginning to feel a little stupid, standing here by the sink doing nothing but idly sipping my drink. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that he's still eating, a thoughtful expression on his face. He better not think too hard, I'm not going to clean up the mess if his head explodes.

I slam my glass down on the counter, scowling, before leaving the kitchen and instead going into my bedroom, the door slamming shut behind me. I swear to god, if he even _thinks _about touching anything in there – on second thoughts, there's not actually that much _to _touch.

I sigh heavily, then pick a random book out of the stack on the floor and sit down on my bed to read. My eyes skim across the pages, not really reading but not totally ignoring it all either.

Hearing shuffling in the next room, I pray silently that he's getting ready to leave, and so am shocked when I hear the taps running. At first I assume he's merely getting another drink, but then I hear the clinking of plates and I begin to worry.

Is he _washing up_?

XXxxXX

My vision is blurry at first, and I wonder why as I blink rapidly a few times to restore natural order to the world. I must have fallen asleep, I realise as I sit up, and then wonder where the blanket came from. Glancing at the small clock on the wall, I note that it's around seven, and decide it's definitely time to get up.

Pushing the purple blanket aside, I stand up and stretch, before opening my bedroom door and stepping out. Please, oh please let Potter be gone!

He's still here.

And I was just about to wake you," he says, stirring a pan of boiling – spaghetti? – "I went out to the shops earlier and bought you some things – you know, like _food_, the stuff that you eat – and decided to make us dinner."

"Umm…" I can't think of anything to say, because quite honestly I'm stunned. Harry Potter is standing in the small kitchen in my small flat cooking spaghetti bolognaise for the two of us. I can see a few carrier bags full of shopping that still need to be put away, and vaguely wonder _why_. I decided to ask.

"Get two plates out would you?" The dark haired man asks before replying, and I find myself complying as I reach into a nearby cupboard.

"Well," he then says "it's my way of repaying you for your help. To be honest, I didn't think you'd _actually _let me in."

"That makes two of us then." I reply, and he snorts in laughter. "It's not poisoned is it?" I have to ask, taking the two clean glasses of the draining board and pulling out the bottle of lemonade I can see sticking out of one of the bags.

He chuckles lightly, shaking his head from side to side as he watches me poor the drinks.

"Surprisingly, no," he shoots back "I need you to be around for next time."

I pride myself in the fact that I don't falter.

"If there _is _a next time, Potter, I will make sure you're not alive for there to be a time after that."

In all my seven years of knowing him, I have never even wondered what the Gryffindor hero looks like when he pouts. If the thought ever crosses my mind in future, I shall always have the memory of this moment to refer to.

"But who will help me out when I get into trouble if I can't come here?"

"Potter, have you ever considered perhaps simply _not _getting into trouble in the first place?"

Potter shrugs, removing a dish containing the mince from the oven before beginning to serve the meal – equally, to my shock.

"Not really," he says, smiling as he does so "I think that would be rather boring. Besides, trouble seems to come looking for me."

I roll my eyes, carrying the drinks to the coffee table and replying in a louder voice so he can hear me.

"I don't doubt it. Perhaps you were magnetized as a child."

The Gryffindor laughs as he brings through our dinner before joining me on the floor and tossing me a knife and fork.

"Maybe," he says, winding some spaghetti around his fork "I always wondered if there was a reason behind Voldermort's untimely appearances; I was beginning to think that my natural charm is simply too much for even him to resist."

My laughter seemed to echo in the miniature flat that I currently call home.

XXxxXX

"I was beginning to wonder if you would ever deem it morally correct to grace me with your holy presence again."

Head. Wall. **_BANG! _**

I cannot believe I just said that. I cannot believe I – oh god, I'm stepping aside, opening the door to let him in. I cannot believe I am doing this – oh my god! I'm blushing!!!

Let me ask you something; as a matter of personal interest, nothing else. If your long time enemy who you hadn't seen since the first time he appeared a little over two weeks ago once again shows up on you doorstep uninvited – weighed down by shopping bags, for some reason – what would you say? Maybe 'what the bloody hell are _you _doing here?' or perhaps, if you were in a relatively sociable mood 'I didn't expect to see you again,' right?

I – the ex-Slytherin Ice Prince who now totally lives up to his 'blonde' status (totally naturally by the way, no dyes have ever come within a meter of my hair) – have to greet the Famous Harry Potter with a statement which leaves no doubt that not only have I not stopped thinking about him (which I haven't, but I'll never tell anyone else that), but have actually been waiting; _looking forward to _him visiting again.

I need help.

Potter quirks an eyebrow at me (I swear to god that man is a Slytherin at heart), thankfully not questioning my blush – or choice of wording, for that matter – as he steps inside. Grinning widely, he makes his way straight into the kitchen, setting the bags down and shrugging off his light denim jacket. Closing the door, I decide to follow him; who knows how many plates he'll break in there if he's left alone.

"Ah, I know you missed me really," he states, slinging the jacket over the back of my couch (which, after hours of scrubbing, is only marred by a slight discolouration of the material. I'll probably flip that cushion over later to hide it) and opening the fridge.

"Besides," Potter says, smirking at me in a way I swearto god I should be able to sue him for – he _stole _that off me! – "somehow I just knew that you wouldn't be able to grasp the simple chore of shopping."

He gestures the once again non-existent contents of my fridge; it now contains a half used tin of tuna, butter and a carton of apple juice.

I scowl at the Slytherin-in-Gryffindor-clothing, but don't say anything, not wanting to embarrass myself further. I have enough to live on, that's what counts.

"Well, are you going to give us a hand or not?" He asks, hands on hips as I reluctantly move from where I was leaning on one of the counters. He grabs the nearest back and pulls the items out of it, giving them homes in my cupboards.

I pull out a bottle of milk that was in the bag I'm currently holding, and turn to put it away.

"What are you really doing here Potter?" I ask, simply knowing that he has ulterior motives for coming back.

"I've already told you," the dark haired man replies, leaning around me to place a tray of eggs on the top shelf in the fridge.

"Besides," he continues "I was curious to see whether or not you had actually moved away. I thought for sure you were going to do another runner." 

"Obviously not," I mumble under my breath, cursing myself for not moving like I had originally planned. Only thing is, when I had picked up a paper to go through the ads, I suddenly realized that I really couldn't be bothered with the hassle of packing up and leaving.

No, it had absolutely _nothing _to do with the fact that Potter knew where I was staying, and, no, there was _no _chance that I was hoping for him to come back. None at all.

"Where the hell did you get all of this stuff anyway?" I felt the need to break the silence "And, better yet, _why_?"

"Well, I couldn't let you starve yourself to death now could I?" He grins at me over his shoulder, before closing the door to the cupboard he had just placed some biscuits in. "And, to answer your first question, there's a food store just around the corner from this place. What, do you _never _leave your flat?"

"Don't be an idiot," I snap "but, in case you haven't noticed, I'm in hiding; that hardly makes it sensible for me to just go wandering aimlessly around where any idiot could stumble over me. What, do you _never _think with that brain of yours, small as it may be?"

Potter laughs, shaking his head at me. "Oh yes, surprising as it is, I _can _think without 'Mione hovering over my shoulder."

"Funny, I thought she was glued there (he surprises me by laughing again). So then, I suppose those seven years of failing potions class were just a clever act to hide the smarts behind the glasses? Is that your secret weapon to defeat Voldermort?"

He snorts, pulling the last item out of a bag. 

"Hardly," he replies, still smiling "I mean, seriously, what do you expect me to do? Should I bore him to death by reciting all the ingredients of the Felix Felicis potion and how each item can be adjusted to achieve maximum effects? Hey, at least if that doesn't work, I can always swiftly drink one whilst praying to whatever deity you happen to believe in that my luck holds out whilst I close my eyes and wave my wand about! Oh yes, I'll be sure to tell Hermione all about that plan tomorrow."

I begin to laugh, and, cursing myself for doing so and turning it into a cough. I can tell by his grin that it's too late though, and quickly change the subject.

"I don't believe in any God."

"What?" He appears somewhat startled, and I cannot help but smirk a little.

I shrug – elegantly, because Malfoy's don't shrug and if we do then we do so with carefully measured grace – before replying.

"Well, you said 'praying whatever deity you to believe in', and I just thought you ought to know that I don't. Believe in one, I mean."

"Oh. 'Mione's already got a job."

"What?"

He shrugs, smiling at me as he answers. 

"Just thought you'd like to know. She's working in the ministry, doing some work with house elf rights or something. Ron's training to be an auror."

"And you?"

Harry thought for a moment, before replying simply "I'm not working. Too much to do."

I don't reply, as I would like to avoid the topic of war, and I don't think he knows what to say now. Good. Maybe now he won't talk so much.

"Do you want a drink then?"

So much for that then.

XXxxXX

"So you got your wand back then?" I ask, after watching Potter transfigure a plant pot that I didn't know I had (and don't want to know how he found) into a kettle.

"Ah, um, well…"

"Well what?" I tried to sound irritated, really I did, but it came out more curious then anything else. I set the cup of hot chocolate that he had made for me down onto the coffee table, folding my legs beneath me and waiting for Potter to settle on the couch next to me before picking it up again.

"That's kind of a long story…"

"Oh, well then, you had better make it quick because I have a date in half an hour."

"Really?" He looks so shocked and confused, that poor, gullible little Gryffindor.

"No, of course not you dolt!"

_Dolt_? That has to be one the lamest insults I have ever had the misfortune to say. It doesn't matter though, because he's chuckling at my joke now, so I sip quietly at my drink.

"Well, if you must know, Snape got it back for me."

I'm only mildly surprised; I've always had my suspicions about that man, so I'm not shocked to find out that he really is a spy.

Potter, though, looks more than a little surprised at the fact the fact that I'm not surprised, and coughs a little before carrying on.

"Like I told you two weeks ago, the death eaters took it, but apparently they weren't very careful with it. I thought for sure they would have snapped it, but instead they simply hid it in this old chest – in the Malfoy mansion."

I can proudly say that I only winced slightly.

"Anyway, Snape was around their one evening, discussing plans with your f-…" He stumbles here, probably not knowing whether to call him my father or Lucius. If he calls him my father I swear to god I will kill him.

"…-with Lucius (I smile a little at him as a reward. Well done, Potter, well done) and when he left the study, your mother (my oh my, you _are _good at this, aren't you Potter?) gave it to him, telling him to take good care of it. She said…she said it's what you would have wanted her to do."

I blush a bit, looking away. I can feel his eyes on me, and so occupy myself taking another, longer, sip of my drink. Damn him! I knew he had a reason for coming here.

"Draco…"

"Don't," I growl, slamming my cup down and glaring at him as he sets his down too "don't you dare pull this shit on me. I'm _not _a good person Potter! I am a Slytherin and a Malfoy, and I bow to _no one_. That means I refuse to serve Voldermort, and, because I know now why you're here, you or Dumbledore. I won't fight for you Potter, I _won't _be dragged into a war that isn't mine to fight!"

"And who says it's anybody else's war to fight either, Draco? If I could, I would keep this war strictly between Voldermort and myself, but it's already gone to far, Draco, and I need all the help I can get. I'm not asking you to fight _for _me, please, I'm asking you to fight _with _me!"

No! No, I won't! I tell him so, before furiously grabbing the cups and taking them into the kitchen.

"Draco, you don't understand. Things are getting out of control in our world, people keep dying and I don't know what to do! Everyone's depending on _me _to save them, looking for me to be the hero and I'm terrified! This scares the shit out of me, Draco, and I _need_ some semblance of normality in my life! I need _your _help! It's just as much your world as it is mine, Draco, you belong there-…"

He's standing behind me, I can feel him, so close, reaching out to me. His eyes are tearing up, I just know it and-

"I told you not to pull this shit on me!" I cry, turning around to face him. I become terrified when I see the fear and hopelessness in his eyes, and so push him out of the way and run past him.

"Draco- you can't run forever!"

"Just watch me!" I spin around on my heel, glaring at him as he tries to come closer. "Who says I want to go back, Potter? Who says I want any part of that world. I was perfectly fine living here before you came along-…"

"Living? You call this living?"

"What did you expect, a goddamn palace with servants waiting on me hand and foot? I'm alive, aren't I, and I plan to keep it that way for as long as possible thank you very much! Besides, why am I so important? What the bloody hell to do you need me for? I'm a coward and Slytherin, I'd trade your life for my own freedom, remember?"

He shakes his head, smiling gently as though speaking to a small child.

"No, no, you wouldn't." He says, and there's no doubt in his eyes, no waver in his voice.

It scares me. So I do the one thing I'm getting very good at.

I run, run into the bathroom and lock the door behind me, leaning up against it the tears slip down my cheek.

XXxxXX

A/N; sigh, last chap will be up tomorrow!


	3. Stitched cloth

A/N; hello again, sorry this is a day late. Thank you to my reviewers, I'm glad you like this :). Well, this is the last chapter; enjoy!

XXxxXX

Someone's knocking at my door.

I roll over in bed, groaning as I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, hoping they'll go away. It's been three days since Potter's last visit, since I locked myself in the bathroom until I left, and I wasn't expecting to see him again.

Their still there, you know.

All of a sudden I realise how familiar this situation is.

I tumble out of bed, my muscles cracking in protest as I make my way out of my bedroom and towards the front door. I'm only in a pair of loose pyjama bottoms, but I'm too lazy to through anything else on.

"Potter, I wasn't expecting- oh, it's you." I open the door, only to find a middle aged woman with long brown hair in a business suit stood there. She's my landlor-lady. She hit me the first time I called her landlord, and I still have the bruise.

"Who were you expecting, the tooth fairy?" She smirks, her eyes travelling down my chest as I yawn, pretending not to notice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake you? Long night?" She grins evilly, her mind spinning as she adds two and two to make ten.

"What? No, why, what time is it?"

"About four in the afternoon, actually."

"WHAT? Oh shit!" I run a hand through my hair – something which is not done very often – before sighing. So _that's _why she thought that.

"So, who's the lucky lady?"

"There is none, Carla, I just slept in – a lot. So, what brings you to my humble abode?"

She clicks her tongue, clearly not believing me, but flicks back her hair and answers anyway.

"I just stopped by to remind you about the rent you owe me; you remember, the rent that last month you were late with and this month you owe me by tomorrow latest?"

Oh shit. That's not good. I groan, wrapping my arms around my body – it's cold out here goddamn it! – as I try to think of something I can reply to that.

"Oh yeah," I finally settle on "thanks for that."

She glares at me sternly, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"Oh, Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy, whatever shall I do with you? You know, if you weren't so bloody cute I would have kicked you out straight away last month. You do have my money, don't you?"

"Erm-…well -…"

"I'll lend you the money."

I must have jumped about a foot in the air as the voice reached my ears, causing Carla to peer around me to see who had spoken. Harry came up beside me, wrapping an arm around me shoulders as he grinned at me – I simply stared at him in shock, not knowing quite what to think.

"Oh, Draco!" I snap my head back around to face Carla who's now smiling at us adoringly. "When you said there's no woman, I never even imagined that there was a man instead! Why is it that all the cute ones are always gay or taken?"

She looks rather put out at the- wait, _gay_?

"Oh no, I'm not gay-…"

"Oh, come now Draco, you know I don't mind either way. Well, it's nice to know you're not totally alone up here, you look like such a sweet couple. Just remember to have that money to me tomorrow – cheerio now!"

And she's gone, leaving a strong smell of perfume behind her.

"What the hell…" I mumble, slowly shutting the door before pulling away from the still smiling Gryffindor and turning to face him.

"What the hell?" I repeat, louder this time, causing him to look a little worried. Well, good. So he should be.

"Thanks a lot! Now, not only does that damn woman think I'm gay – which I'm _not _– I now also have to find the money that you've just told her she'll have by tomorrow! What the fuck am I going to do now? And just when the hell did you get here anyway?"

I run out of steam, panting as he stares at me, one eyebrow raised. He pulls off his coat, slinging it over the back of the couch again before replying.

"I told you I'd pay, didn't I?" I don't even notice that he just avoided most of my questions.

"I – what?"

"I'll give you the money. It's no dent in my bank, and I know that Lucius had your account frozen, so I don't mind letting you have the money to pay for this place."

"Oh-um…" I know I can't really argue, because I do _need _the money. I haven't really been planning my money well, and have pretty much been living on the relatively small amount I managed to pull from the family vaults before taking off; I don't know how I planned to survive for too long. I'll have to seriously consider getting a job.

Oh, how _wrong _it is for a Malfoy to say that.

He takes my stunned silence for acceptance, and sits down.

"What do you want in return?" I sigh, knowing this can't be him simply 'helping out a friend' or something similar.

"What do you mean?" He asks, looking honestly bewildered.

"Well, you must want _something _in return. I don't believe that you would simply lend your long term enemy such an amount of money when you've barely managed a civil conversation with them."

"You're not my enemy, not when I have people like Voldermort trying to kill me."

Ah, Voldermort, will you ever just piss off out of my life?

I sigh tiredly, watching curiously as his eyes roam over my body. What is he- oh my god. I'm still topless. Ah, bugger it.

"Ah, I'm just going to get changed." He looks away, blushing, nodding quickly as I leave the room. Once in my bedroom, I quickly pulled on a pair of black jeans and a dark red t-shirt (cursing such a Gryffindor colour) before walking back into the living room.

I sit down on the couch, and Harry – when did he become _Harry _anyway? – passes me a glass of lemonade, which I thank him for but don't drink, preferring instead to watch him as he downs his. His black hair – messy as always – falls over his eyes even as he tilts his head back, and I notice just how long it's become, now falling almost to the base of his neck.

"Do you ever brush your hair?" I have to ask, and I he chuckles lightly to cover up his embarrassment as he shakes his head.

"I run a comb through it every now and then, but it doesn't do much good, unfortunately."

I don't reply, finally choosing to take a sip of my drink.

"What are you doing back here?" My voice is quiet, almost scared, but I stubbornly label it cautious. I'm a Malfoy, albeit a very bad one.

Harry studies me for a few moments in silence, and I have the urge to chew my lip worriedly, but manage to keep my face devoid of emotion – thank god. Finally, he sighs, setting down his cup before turning to face me, crossing his legs underneath him on the couch. I turn his way a little too, tucking one leg underneath me and propping the other one up on the couch behind it.

"Who says I need a reason to visit you?"

The answer shocks me, much more than the news of Snape being a spy did, and I find myself furrowing my brows in confusion. Finally, I scowl at him, taking up a defensive position in the conversation.

"And here I was thinking you were going to plead for my help again." I drawl, throwing my nose into the air as I look away. I'm being stupid. I don't care. Serves him right, the stupid, idiot, stubborn Gryffindor.

He doesn't rise to the bait.

"Perhaps. But I wouldn't beg you to, even if that was the only thing that would make you come back. Listen, Draco, I- would it be stupid for me to say that I've missed you?"

"E-excuse me?"

Think I was surprised a minute ago? Hell, I'm about to have a nervous breakdown right about now.

"I – I – ah, it's nothing. I'm sorry, I –…"

What, he's going to back out _now? _He stands up to leave, but I find myself grabbing his wrist. There is no way in hell that I'm going to let him leave before he explains what he meant.

I tug at his arm, causing him to fall on top of me. We both blush, and try to right ourselves, but in the end he's basically sitting in my lap, one leg either side of mine. He tries to move again, but I put my hands on his hips to hold him in place, ignoring our – ah, _compromising _– position. No, it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm decidedly comfortable here; I just want him to tell me what he meant before he can try to escape again.

"What do you mean? You said something similar the other day…Harry, why do you need _me_? What the hell have I got to do with anything?"

My voice is quiet, gently yet demanding, and he must realise I don't intend to let him go because he sighs before finally answering.

"I-…Back in school, you were like…I don't know how to describe it. You were the most normal thing in my life, the one thing I could count on to stay the same. No matter what was going on around me, no matter who shocked me by denying either side, no matter _what_, I could always count on you to hate me. I found myself looking forward to our fights; they told me I was still human, still alive, still capable of feeling, but most of all they told me that not _everything _was changing. No matter who let me down, I could always count on you.

'But then, when we left school, you ran away. I searched for you, not because I had to, but because I _wanted _to. The one constant thing in my life had suddenly changed, and I wanted to know how, why…I needed to find you. But when I did, I didn't know what to do. I could show up on your door-step, scare the shit out of you, and you would hate me and we would fight as usual…but something in me didn't want that. I didn't want to fight with you."

I'm confused to say the least, and I'm sure it shows on my face because he sighs again, closing his eyes briefly before opening them, determination flashing in them.

"What did you want then?" I find myself asking, breathing out heavily as I do so.

"This."

And, living up to his true fame of being the only person who has ever managed to render me speechless, Harry leans in and kisses me.

My eyes fly open wide, and he leans back just as suddenly as he leaned in, suddenly looking scared and lost as he tries to pull away.

And I, being an idiot, let him.

He's out of my door and out of my life before I can even blink. Shit.

XXxxXX

I cannot believe I'm doing this. I simply cannot _believe _I'm doing this. Of all the most stupid, idiotic things I have ever done, this has to out-do them all. I am an idiot. I cannot **_believe I am doing this_**!

I have all my belongings – or the important ones, anyway – in this simple, small rucksack that sits upon my back, and I've already spoken to Carla, promising to post the money to her with quite a bit extra, asking her not to sell the flat for another day or two in case my plan fails. After guessing – more or less correctly, for once – that I was off to talk to my 'boyfriend' about 'moving in with him', she sent me off with a smile and a wave, wishing me good luck and telling me we were a lovely couple. I laughed, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach, and walked away.

The butterflies are gone. The hawks invaded not so long ago, however, and I'm _absolutely terrified_ right now! What if he didn't mean it? What if he just did it to get me to come back?

Well, then it worked, didn't it?

I cannot believe I am doing this!

I traipse along the ministry corridors, dodging busy workers as they scurry past, ducking my head lower in a vain attempt to stop anybody recognising me. It's a long shot, but they all seem in too much of a hurry to care anyway, and I highly doubt anyone's going to take the time to stop and read the badge pinned to my robes that proudly states my name. If they do, of course, I may just have to stun them.

Quickly, before they stun me.

I quicken my pace, turning left and just _hoping _that I've come the right way. I hope, really _hope _that I've come to the right place, because I didn't know where else to go. Oh, please let her be here.

"Granger!"

Thank god she's here! I turn into the office that she shares with two other people, pleased to see that the bushy haired witch is alone, sitting at a table that's over-crowded with many books and pieces of parchment. She had previously been scribbling away at some official type document, but looked up, startled, when I called her name.

"Malfoy?" She cries, standing up quite suddenly and gaping at me, hand on her wand.

"What the hell?"

"You know, that has to be the first time I've ever heard you even come close to swearing," I can't help but say, smiling friendly as I pull off the rucksack and dump it on the floor.

"Long time no see."

I don't think that's what she was expecting me to say, because her mouth's still hanging open, her knuckles white as she grips her wand.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to harm you," I say, holding up my hands defensively "it's just, Harry mentioned you work here, and the thing is, I -…"

"Harry?" She says, her mouth finally closing. "You've spoken to Harry?"

I cock my head to one side, furrowing my brows.

"You mean he never said anything?"

She thinks for a few moments before lowering her wand slowly, but she doesn't put it away.

"Actually," she says "I remember him saying that he was going to search for you. I guess he finally found you…and he has disappeared a few times and never told us where he was going – not often though, once yesterday, once two weeks or so ago…"

"And once after a death eater attack during which he lost his wand, right?"

Finally she appears to believe me, and she smiles grimly, sitting back down.

"Ah, so you were his mysterious helper."

"Not by choice, I assure you. He just appeared on my doorstep; what was I supposed to do, leaving him bleeding to death only to bring the entire wizarding world to my doorstep when he's found lying there dead the next day? I don't think so."

She smiles, properly, at me, gesturing to a seat in the corner of the room which a drag closer.

"So," she breathes in deeply "what can I do for you?"

"Well…um, you see…I need to get hold of Harry?"

The Gryffindor looks at me curiously, twirling her wand in her hand a little.

"Oh yes?" She asks.

"Yes." I reply simply, not wishing to tell her any more than that. She purses her lips together, obviously not wanting to give details of his whereabouts, and I sigh dejectedly.

"All right, all right, I'll bloody well tell you. Look, here's the deal; Harry said some really important stuff to me the other day, then ran out before I got a chance to reply. The thing is, I really need to talk to him now, and since he always comes to my place, I don't know how to get hold of him. I was hoping you would tell me."

Granger merely looks at me for a few moments, then her eyes travel down to the rucksack at my feet before she looks back at me. I can see her mind working away in her head, sifting through the information to come to a suitable conclusion. Please oh please don't let her figure it out…

Finally she sighs, giving a small nod before pulling out a blank piece of parchment and writing down what I can only assume is his address. She passes it to me and I thank her, barely glancing at it before picking up my rucksack and heading towards the door.

"Oh, and Draco?"

I pause, looking over my shoulder to see that she's already scribbling away again, and she doesn't look up.

"If you hurt him, I _will _have to kill you."

I smile at her, pulling the door closed behind me as I dart out into the corridor, feeling her eyes on my back until I round the corner out of sight.

She knows.

XXxxXX

Standing in front of his door, I realised just how _easy _it had been to get here. No traps, no hexes, no wards (that I could detect, anyway) no…anything. In fact, Harry was living in a muggle apartment; the first floor of a large Victorian house that had been converted to be used as flats. There was a small corridor outside his front door, naturally, which had stairs at the end leading up to the next flat, but this is where I found myself standing, on his door step with my hand poised to knock.

I lost my nerve, letting my arm fall back to my side. It's funny, his flat is not that far from mine; in fact, it's just in the next street over, which is why I don't understand why he came to my place all those weeks ago instead of going home.

Although, Harry never made sense to me. Maybe though…I let myself hold a small bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, Harry _wanted _to come to my flat, _wanted _to see _me_. With that thought in mind, I knock on the door.

It's opened not long after by a rather bewildered looking Harry, and it suddenly hits me just how weird this must seem. It was dark outside by the time I arrived, meaning it's probably quite late, and it was raining so I'm probably quite wet, but I never noticed because I was so caught up in my thoughts. I don't care right now, either, because Harry's talking, and my eyes are trained on his lips.

"Draco, I- how did you find me?"

"Did you mean it?" I make my eyes meet his, and I see the confusion in his eyes.

"What?"

"Did you mean it when you kissed me?"

I shiver a little, feeling a drop of water trail down my neck, and I pull my cloak tighter around me. Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair as he opens the door to let me in.

"I'd rather not to this on the doorstep, if you don't mind," he says, and I walk in. Well, his place is certainly nicer than mine, it has to be said. The front door opens onto a half corridor, with a bright, spacious living room on the right and a kitchen in the large alcove behind the wall of the corridor. I imagine there's a bathroom and bedroom to the left, but I can't be bothered to look as Harry leads me into the living room, taking my cloak and performing a quick drying and heating charm on me which I thank him for, dropping my rucksack to the floor. We both sit down on the couch, and as he doesn't say anything I feel the need to break the awkward silence that's befallen us.

"Did you mean it, Harry?"

He avoids looking at my eyes, running a hand through his hair again.

"You know I did. How did you find me?" He asks quickly, before I can ask another question.

Sighing in frustration, I answer the question quickly.

"I went to see Granger in the ministry. She's done all right for herself, considering she's only what, seventeen, eighteen?"

"Seventeen, for now." Harry corrects me, smiling a little at the compliment on behalf of his friend.

"What are you doing here?" His voice is so quiet I almost don't here it, but I do, and I can see the worry in his eyes. What does he think I'm going to do, curse him, hit him, yell at him? Bloody hell!

I don't know what to say, so instead I lean forward and kiss him, placing my hand behind his head to stop him moving away. His eyes widen in surprise at first, and he gasps, allowing me time to sneak my tongue into his mouth; another thing which he didn't expect. His lips move clumsily against mine, but I don't mind, because the noises he's making more than make up for it and the way his tongue runs along mine is just so-so-

- and his hands grip at my clothing as our kiss deepens, becoming more passionate, steamy and-and- and I never realised just how hard it is to think whilst kissing.

We pull away slowly, and it takes a moment or two for him to open his eyes.

"Wow," he breathes, and I giggle a little, before realising that - oh my bloody god I just giggled!

Harry, however, must have thought it cute or something, because he grinned widely, kissing me again, lovingly, pulling back before it could become too intense.

"I- I think I'm falling in love with you," he says, his voice quiet and husky, but still full of love and adoration.

"Good," I reply, kissing him briefly on the lips "because I love you too. Besides, I don't randomly appear out of hiding for just anyone you know."

He takes a moment to ponder the statement, before drawing back a little.

"You mean-…"

I bite my lip a little before replying, my voice firm and confident.

"Yeah. I'll back. I'll fight with you. On one condition."

I don't think anything could wipe the grin of his face right now.

"What's that then?"

I lean forward for another kiss, my lips lingering on his as I seek reassurance.

"Never, ever leave me," I finally say, and he smiles even wider – how is that possible? – before pulling me back in for another kiss.

I don't know when things changed between us, and I don't know how or why, but I don't regret any of it.

And I have to remember to find the death eater that sliced Harry's arm open; I must give him a heartfelt thank you, after all, for giving Harry an excuse to come visit.

As terrible clichéd and unnecessary as that excuse was. I would have loved my Gryffindor either way.

XXxxXX

A/N; ah, finally, it's over! Thank god! I've been writing this thing for moths, so now it's over I can finally concentrate solely on veela genes.

Reviews are appreciated!


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